If I Were a Girl
by Hazelstiltskin
Summary: America, or Alfred Jones, is all over living up to the title of 'hero'. After all, that's what guys are good at, right? He's sure that nothing will ever be able to get in his way as both a country and superpower until a rather queer and unusual event happens to him... he turns into a girl.
1. Chapter 1

**Quick Author's Note: **

**Hi, guys! Hazel here! :D**

**Okay, okay, I know, author's notes are tedious (especially at the beginning of a chapter [I'msorry-]), but I wanted to go ahead and give you a briefing of what to expect for IIWAG. :3 I can't think of a better way to do this than to tell you what you will ****_not _****see in here. Seeing as the majority of gender-swaps here in the Hetalia FanFiction community are either shipping oneshots, rated M or created simply for the purpose of pairing, I wanted to make a gender-swap and yet have an actual plot come out of it. So here we have it! C: Yes, there ****_will_**** be little sprinklings and hints of shippings here and there, and yes, occasional language will cause the story to lean vaguely towards the M rating, but you can rest assured that I will not be causing you the grief of shipping our main protagonist or having scenes that make you cringe because of the content. I'm super excited for this one, so as you read, please enjoy! ovo Remember, if you do or don't like what you read, make sure to say so and point out ****_why_****! That way I know what to continue doing or what to fix next. x3 Any other notes would be to thank Ebenezzie for being my loyal beta (MYCARUBA-) and LHPride for putting up with my endless ramblings. There will be updates more or less weekly, school-pending. o3o Now, without further ado, here we have If I Were a Girl!**

* * *

"And we will now begin the meeting."

Arthur Kirkland's voice hushed the murmurs of the gathered nations. He grabbed a stack of papers and straightened them with a _tap, tap, tap _on the table before moving to the head of the room.

Alfred Jones squinted slightly and nudged his glasses further up his nose. It was hard to make out the Briton properly from where he was sitting; the rows of desks and chairs filling the almost blindingly beige room were a catastrophe waiting to happen. Nations fidgeted here and there and a few belatedly took their seats. Alfred was vaguely reminded of high school.

"Is everyone in attendance?"

Heads turned to survey the room. Alfred joined them in trying to place any missing nations. He couldn't name any and offered a shrug.

"Humm~" Feliciano Vargas spoke up from beside Alfred, "If you aren't here, raise your hand! Anyone? No?"

Alfred didn't have to look to know the _smack _that came from somewhere behind him belonged to a certain German's colliding hand and forehead.

Arthur didn't bat an eye, though a massive brow twitched slightly at the Italian's words. "Quite." He adjusted his tie (Alfred rolled his eyes at the choice of a UK flag design) and stepped forward. "Now, we have important topics to discuss this time around. I want everybody's undivided attention as we go over these and hopefully, unlike almost every other meeting we've ever held, we can get something accomplished."

Leaning forward slightly, Alfred folded his arms across the desktop. His boss had mentioned something about speaking with Arthur during this meeting; he needed to make sure he knew when to go up there and show the others what for! It was time to pay attention, which once again brought his thoughts to that of high school. He had never paid attention then, so doing so now would make up for all of those ignored lectures!

…Did he even go to high school? His train of thought promptly leapt off of a cliff. If he did enroll, he didn't remember it. He aged differently than humans; how old was he when he went? Did he graduate? Did he have his degrees? _Since when did he have degrees_? Did he need them?

"_Psst! _America! Hey, America!"

Alfred turned towards the voice with a start. Feliciano smiled at him and held forward a paper. The sheet was carefully folded into what vaguely resembled a flower that had been hit by a truck.

"Could you pretty please pass this to Germany?" The Italian gushed in a barely suppressed whisper. "He's just got to read it!"

"Uhh…" Alfred cast Arthur a glance. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo was asking the Briton a question, occupying his attention from the American and Italian. "Okay!"

Feliciano turned back in his seat to face Arthur as soon as Alfred held possession of the note. As he reached to hand the note over to the next nearest nation, he suddenly noticed the curiosity gnawing at his stomach.

Alfred was unable to resist peeling back the folds just enough to read the text Feliciano had written to the German, Ludwig Beilschmidt.

Ciao_, Germany! I'm hungry. Do you think Britain has any Italian restaurants? I tried this sauce-scented perfume the other day but it turned out it was fake and the elderly guy in the creepy white van who had sold it to me made me pay a whole lot of money for it and that makes me really upset! But it's okay because I accidentally used your wallet to pay for it! Hey, did you notice that Britain's left eyebrow is thicker than his right?_

Alfred perked a brow of his own, looking up to Arthur curiously. He had to clap a hand to his mouth to suppress his laugh. It was oddly true—well, at least the bit about the eyebrows (the perfume part of the note worried Alfred a bit).

Alfred re-creased the folds and handed the note to a drowsing Heracles Karpusi, who in turn handed it to Feliks Łukasiewicz. It took a few tries to get the texting nation to notice the note, but after finally realizing his task Feliks successfully delivered it to Ludwig.

The German almost passed the note behind him before catching Feliciano's enthused eye; he frowned with obvious suspicion and opened the paper. Alfred and Feliciano watched Ludwig anxiously as he slowly read over the note. He, just as Alfred had, cast Arthur a look to confirm the paper's words. As soon as his eyes met Arthur's eyebrows, his un-amused (and rather pained) expression flashed just briefly towards what one might title 'amusement'.

The foreign look alone was enough to cause both the American and Italian to burst into giggles.

"America! Italy!" Arthur snapped. "Is there something you find funny about worldwide poverty levels?"

Alfred froze as he realized where his bad timing had landed him. He sunk into his chair with a few subdued laughs before clearing his throat and falling silent. Feliciano squirmed uncomfortably beside him.

"If you're just about finished," Arthur cast a paper he held a glance, "We'll continue. Next on the list of topics is… financial problems."

A few nations stiffened, Alfred included. The American stole a glance to Yao Wang. The nation stared back at him with slightly narrowed eyes before looking pointedly away. Alfred grumbled to himself.

"Now, to break the ice into this topic, are there any observations to be made about the current world economy?"

A hand drifted up, belonging to none other than Ivan Braginski.

Arthur looked to it with a nod. "Yes, Russia?"

The Russian cleared his throat. "I am not going to say names, but…" Ivan's too-cheery smile widened just slightly, "If America doesn't correct his economy's issues soon, we're all going to be dragged down with him. Perhaps we should _force_ him to fix his money problems?"

"Hey!" Alfred's palms slammed down on the tabletop in front of him and he indignantly took to his feet. "That is so not cool! You try anything on me, bastard, and I'll—"

"_Hej! _Don't start!" A voice called.

"Do you really want the _polizia_ to get involved? _Again?!_" Another added.

There were grumbles of agreement from around the meeting room.

"_Fine._" Alfred snapped, plopping back into his seat and staring daggers at Ivan. The Russian smiled back and Alfred swore he saw a hint of smugness in his eyes.

"Next topic," The Briton said quickly, "Education. This year's research results state that Britain's educational system has had a higher ranking than France's this year."

Arthur failed to hide a smirk behind the paper he currently cited from. Alfred couldn't be sure from where he sat, but if that _was_ in fact a poor-quality .jpeg of the United States, America was _rather far_ down the education ranking list—

Francis Bonnefoy's hand lifted, curling slightly as he held onto a strand of his hair. "I would like to inform you, _mon ami,_" Francis said the two words through grit teeth, "about the ranking for which of our two nations had _higher crime rates_ this year."

"Permission denied. Try to stay on-topic, France." Arthur reprimanded, folding his arms. Francis's cry of outrage at the Briton's hypocrisy went ignored as Arthur nodded to Eduard Von Bock, who was patiently holding up a hand. "Yes?"

Alfred's attention had already started to slip again. He hunted the sea of faces once, twice, and then three times before finally locating his brother's. Folding up a sheet of paper concerning something along the lines of health care, Alfred turned it over to the back and pulled out a pen.

_c-dog dude if every1 here commit a crime wat do u think they did i think france wuld hav hung out at a local playground nd spain culd have robbed a veg stand and u pbbly wuld hav gone on a mass killing spree or something and i totally had to step in and heroically stop u wat do u think?_

Alfred crumpled the paper into a tight ball and angled himself towards his brother. Matthew Williams currently held a seat in the far back, almost out of sight behind the looming shape of Berwald Oxenstierna (the only reason Alfred had even been able to find the nation from behind Berwald was due to the Canadian's bear, who currently sprawled over the tabletop in a massive lump of white).

Before Alfred even moved to throw the ball he faltered and looked at Arthur, realizing he didn't want to get caught again in the case another touchy subject was being discussed. Arthur was still talking with Eduard; the Briton paused to take a sip from his water bottle.

_Now!_

Alfred flashed a grin as he reeled back his arm and hurled the note towards his kin as hard as his muscles would allow. A startled Feliciano ducked out of harm's way beside him. The ball had a brief journey of flying over Toris Laurinaitis's head and cutting close to the intercepting body of Berwald though was safely delivered to Matthew's left eye socket.

After anxiously making sure his glasses weren't shattered, Matthew worriedly picked up the stray ball and walked it to a trashcan nestled by the exit.

Alfred slammed his head against the desk. _Way to go, _Canadia_!_

As Vash Zwingli joined the conversation between Eduard and Arthur, Alfred tasked himself with counting how many times the Swiss man blinked. It was quite amusing, really; he was nearing the two-hundreds when something (finally) happened.

Heads swiveled towards him. Alfred perked up, looking around with wide eyes. "Err… What?"

"Alfred? The paper, if you will." Arthur spoke as though he were repeating something for the millionth time.

Alfred nodded once and opened the black binder his boss had instructed him to bring. While said boss expected him to speak about the struggling economy, the recent research on earthquakes, various trade routes and the people of the two countries, Alfred thought it would be much more interesting to talk about the new movies in production or the recent jailbreak and hunt for a missing convict. How could economics possibly be more interesting than that!

"Any day now," The Briton muttered, placing his hands on his hips.

Alfred glowered. "_Jeez, _a dude hosts a UN meeting and suddenly he's all high and mighty, isn't he?" His hand bumped against the back of his binder. He returned to the front of the papers and began peeling through them once again.

"Please tell me you at least _know_ the information."

_Nope, not one word of it._ "What do you mean? I practically know it by heart! The production of _Sharknado 2 _is well underway, and—"

"_Buta! _The world news!" A voice hissed. Alfred shot a glare in their direction.

"America." Arthur spoke slowly. "You did bring the document, right?"

"What do you mean? Of course I brought it!" Alfred held up his binder and gave it a wiggle. "What am I, stupid?"

A few nations cleared their throats around him.

"Wise guys, aren't we? We'll see who gets the last laugh when I go all _soff-isti-kati-on-y_ on you guys!" Alfred let out a few arrogant laughs at the thought, opening his binder once again and searching for the phantom paper.

"I believe you meant '_sophisticated_', but—Oh, just get up here already!" Arthur barked.

Alfred snapped the binder shut before inching his way towards the Briton at the head of the room. He promptly reopened his binder to resume his search.

"You did _not _lose the information." Arthur growled into his ear. "I _dare_ you to correct me if I'm wrong."

"Shut your face, I have it, I have… Hey, I've been looking for this coupon!"

_"America."_

"Fine, fine, you can have it! No need to look so angry, dude!"

"Ame—"

As he (now frantically) scoured the papers, Alfred suddenly lost his grip on the binder. The contents within poured everywhere in an explosion of white.

Panicking, Alfred flounced forward to try and save what papers he could from a shameful demise on the floor; an eternity of frantic grabbing and aimless groping towards the flittering litter finally wielded its results. Alfred gathered the lone survivor of the incident and held it towards Arthur with a sheepish grin.

"… I caught the coupon~"

"_Go_ _sit down._" Arthur ground through grit teeth. The insult, more so the _lack _of, offended Alfred more than any 'you bloody idiot' or 'grimy whig' could have. His shoulders slumping just slightly, the American scooped his papers into a transportable heap and returned to his seat, still fishing about in the off-chance that he found the paper. He glanced back up at the sound of Arthur's voice.

"I believe," Arthur removed his fingers from where they had been pinching the bridge of his nose, "that now would be an appropriate time for a lunch break."

It was as if the gravitation light switch was flipped off. The majority of the sitting nations rose to their feet in a synchronized motion. Alfred struggled to shove his papers back into the binder as countries uneasily trickled out of the room.

Alfred could feel Arthur's presence arrive behind him via the angry aura he almost physically emitted.

"America."

The American swiveled around to look at him. "What's up, Iggybrows?"

"Be back here by six. If you're late returning, I will… I will personally…" Arthur stiffly scratched at the back of his head. "I'll…"

Alfred broke into a grin. "You can't hurt me and you know it~"

Arthur flushed a bright shade from anger. "Git," He finally spat, turning on a heel and marching towards the door.

"_You're such a girl, you know!"_

"And you're such an _American_!"

Alfred still smiled despite the comment. At least now he would be reprimanded later only _half_ as bad!

He spent a few more moments making the binder look less like an aborted _papier mâché_ project. Matthew walked by, lightly bumping a fist to the side of Alfred's head in a kind gesture as he took his leave.

Alfred didn't fight the ball of air that puffed from his lungs as he shut the binder. Where could the papers have gone? Rising from his seat, Alfred raised his arms above him in a stretch. He froze. There was no way…

The American inched towards the trashcan, eyeing the ball that had been waded up and tossed into the trashcan by his brother. He picked it up and unfurled it, glancing at the heading on the paper.

_The American-Briton Agreement for the Meeting of September, 2013…_

"Oh my _God._ You're kidding me!" Alfred groaned, re-balling the paper and chucking it angrily into the wastebasket before realizing that wrinkling it further would only make his troubles that much more difficult. Maybe he could text his boss and see if he couldn't get a less-crumbled and pen-inkless copy of the paper before the lunch break ended?

… Yeah, _that _was likely to happen. Alfred fold his arms with a frustrated groan. "Thanks a lot, _Canadia._" He wasn't sure how this was his brother's fault, but it made Alfred feel better to know that it wasn't his own.

Alfred then fished in his suit pocket for his phone.

What, was he going to let a perfectly good lunch break go to waste over the loss of a simple paper? He held down the _home_ button on his SmartPhone. There was business to be done.

"Siri! Where is the nearest WcDonalds?"


	2. Chapter 2

The sound of Alfred's hands slapping together filled the street. The walls of well-worn houses stood around him, tossing the crisp sounds back and forth in an almost taunting way. A few pedestrians shuffled along the cracked sidewalks lining either side of the street, but Alfred found it much more suitable to stroll down the dead center of the road. There was much more space to walk there! How did Britons manage it with their tiny sidewalks?

While the nearest WcDonalds (much to Alfred's dismay) was too far away for him to have nabbed a meal and returned in time for the meeting, Alfred had managed to find a quaint restaurant that sold those Fish n' Chips Arthur liked so much. He had even gotten them for free!

Well, Alfred was truthfully beginning to suspect that said 'restaurant' was actually an innocent British civilian's home that the American had wandered in to, but the food was good so why did it matter? Alfred finished wiping crumbs from his hands with a grand finale of running his fingers over his suit pants.

"Almost as good as American food… Pfft! Who am I kidding? Nothing could top a burger!" Alfred leisurely continued down the road, noting the vague nostalgia that the faded pavement seemed to resonate towards him. Maybe he would stay for an extended vacation sometime if it weren't for the memories that lurked here.

Speaking of which, why _was_ he even here?

"Oh, _shi—_" Alfred's exclamation startled a nearby pedestrian. He managed to stop himself before releasing the cussword onto the ears of innocent people; he would never hear the end of it from Arthur if he said something like that while visiting the other's nation. That in mind, Alfred decided it would be best to correct his vulgar error. "Oh, _fuck._"

But these thoughts were the least of his worries. He fumbled to find his phone and bring up the time; when he did, he instantly regretted it. _5:54 p.m._

"I have six… now five minutes to get back!" Alfred whipped his gaze around for the nearest street sign. "Where is that building, man…!"

Alfred sprinted down to the end of the street before turning around, horribly lost, and dashing back. He peeled off at the end of the block and slipped down an alley. The American finally admitted defeat as he trot onto a sidewalk and pulled out his SmartPhone.

"_Siri!" _He puffed into his phone, "Where is Britain?"

_Only four more minutes!_

_Bing! "_Britain, or the United Kingdom, is located off the north-western coast of continental Europe. It is located in the Northern Hemisphere—"

"No! No, England! Eyebrows!" Alfred nearly tripped over a crack in the sidewalk as he followed the curve of the street.

_Bing! "_Calling: Eyebrows."

"What? No! Cancel! _Cancel!_" _Does that fire hydrant look familiar? _Alfred picked up his feet. One of his shoes flew off.

_Bing! "_Cancelled call."

"Okay, dude, that whole 'bing' business is getting pretty annoying!" Alfred bit his lip as he struggled to wedge his heel back into his shoe. He peeked at the time on his phone again. _"Three minutes!_"

_Bing! "_Calling: France_._"

"Hell no! Siri, no!" Alfred aborted his shoe and began hopping down the street. The curve straightened, and into view rolled… "The Meeting Building Place Thing!"

_Bing! "_Did you say 'The Meeting Building Place Thing'?"

"_For the_ _love of all things holy—_"

He abruptly shoved his phone back into his pocket. _Two minutes._

The American yanked off his other shoe, flying towards the building that loomed just ahead.

It seemed like he _would_ make it to the meeting on time, after all! It was just a straight run into the building, a mad dash to the elevator and he would escape a lecture from both Arthur and his own boss!

The stairs leading up to the building neared. Alfred pumped his fists above his head as he easily cleared them in two steps, a victorious whoop escaping his throat. He reached for the handles of the glass doors that would allow him to reach his goal.

"_Yes-!"_

"_Ungarn!" _A voice cackled as the doors were thrown open in a flurry of white and red. "_Entlassen—!"_

_THUD!_

Alfred tumbled onto his back before he had time to dodge the body that sailed through the entrance.

"_Was—? Amerika?!"_

Alfred lifted his head, thrashing under the weight of his assailant. It was none other than a slightly dazed Gilbert Beilschmidt. "_Prussia_? Bro, what's up with you? Get off of me!"

"_Gott, _my head…!"Gilbert groaned, struggling to wobble into an upright position. He flopped against the door to hold it shut.

There was a flash of green from behind the glass of said doors. Elizabeta Héderváry drew to a halt on the other side, her breathing harsh and eyes glittering with enough malice to give Alfred a chill. "_Gyere vissza, te seggfej_!"

"Hey, you two, watch it with the foreign words! We don't want to piss off half of the readers, do we?" Alfred hissed, joining the albino to his feet.

Gilbert stared at him, leaning harder against the doors. "Err—What?"

"Nothing!" Alfred lifted a brow as he dusted off his pants. "What are you even doing here, Prussia?"

"_Ha! _You act like you can't guess!" Gilbert splayed a palm atop his chest. As if on cue, his bird companion sprung out of his breast pocket and began flapping in circles around the albino's head. "I'm here to invade this meeting's vital regions, of course!"

"Yes, because I'm sure _that's _going to happen." Elizabeta huffed from the other side of the door. Alfred strained to pick up her words through the glass. "I'd suggest you leave now while you have the chance before I get to you, and thenyou'll _really_ get it, _idiota_!"

"As _if_ I'd leave _now! _Do you even know how hard it was to fit into _bruder_'_s _pants for the plane trip here?" Gilbert folded his arms with a scoff. "_Despicable!_"

"I… You… _What? _Prussia, that isn't even physically _possibl—_"

"Woah, dude, I love that movie!" Alfred interrupted the Hungarian, lifting a hand for the albino to high-five. The albino stuck his tongue out and left the American hanging ("Come on; don't do me like this, bro!").

Elizabeta shoved against the door with a roll of her eyes. It barely budged against Gilbert's grip. "Let me out already!"

"What, are you too weak to even get past me? How lame!_ Keseseseses_!"

Elizabeta's eyes flared with choler. "You-!"

Gilbert sharply turned to face Alfred. "_Oi, _American. Since you thwarted my master plan to escape and all by tripping me-"

"Hey, _you _tripped _me!_" Alfred cut in.

"—why don't you make up for it by doing me a favor?"

"Don't do it!" Elizabeta hissed, pounding a fist angrily against the door.

"… What is it?" Alfred cast a look between both Gilbert and Elizabeta. Was this a lose-lose situation? If he helped Gilbert, Elizabeta would probably ride his case, yet if he ignored Gilbert he might feel the wrath of the albino in full. Then again, he was America, dammit, and he could handle any situation thrown against him! That brought him back to square one; was he to side with Gilbert or Elizabeta?

"Why do you look so nervous, American? Aren't you all over 'being the hero' or whatever?" Gilbert cast him a bemused look, seeming to notice the thoughts that dappled Alfred's mind. "Or are you over that saving stuff now?"

Alfred immediately perked. "What are you smoking, dude? Of course I'm still the hero! I'll never _not _be the hero, and don't you forget it! What did you need help with?"

"I'm surrounded by a bunch of complete _morons!" _Elizabeta groaned, bumping her forehead to the door in distress.

The Prussian snickered. "You have to help me with a bit of a _rodent _problem I've been having lately."

"_Idiota!" _Elizabeta's anger returned in a heartbeat.

The insult directed at the Hungarian flew over Alfred's head. "You… have _mice_?"

"Take that back!" Elizabeta grit her teeth, ignoring the American's quip. "You aren't even supposed to be here, Prussia!"

Gilbert pointedly turned his back on Elizabeta.

"Nope~_, _not anymore." He replied to Alfred. The albino released his grip on the door and in a fluid motion grabbed Alfred by the shoulders. "_I _don't, because_ you_ do!"

The American didn't have time to comprehend the fact that he was now being swung around and turned into a meat shield for Gilbert. It was apparent that Elizabeta didn't, either, as she burst through the doors, pulling a skillet out of what seemed like thin air and swinging it downwards.

_CLANG!_

Alfred could have sworn he just high-fived Jesus. He toppled to the ground.

"America?" Elizabeta sounded confused.

"_Haa ha! _You'll never catch me, you hear! I'm far too awesome to get hit by _you_!" With a string of his signature laughs, Gilbert pulled down a bottom eyelid before turning and dashing madly in the opposite direction.

Elizabeta stiffened at the comment but offered Alfred a hand opposed to pursuing the albino. He accepted it, rising to his feet and shaking off the hit as best he could. His ears were still ringing.

"I do apologize." She looked to her weapon. "I thought you were that Prussian fool! When I get him, I'll remove both of his eyes, and then I'll grab him by the—"

"It's cool!" Alfred shot up his palms in defeat, praying to the heavens that she would not finish that sentence. "It's cool. I just hope that ol' Igglet will believe me when I say that I was late because of Prussia. I don't think anyone expected _him_ to show face!"

"'Late'?" Elizabeta repeated, though cut herself off. "_Te jó Isten_! I completely forgot that I was supposed to be returning to the meeting!" She entered the building again, casting Alfred a glance. "Are we late now?"

"Yeah, we are." Alfred followed her closely. He refrained from the insults he _wanted _to use as he wasn't the one holding the skillet and instead settled with, "Thanks to you and Prussia, that is."

"This isn't my fault," The Hungarian objected, striding quickly across the interior of the building. "If Prussia hadn't even shown up in the first place, we wouldn't be having this problem!"

Alfred struggled to match pace with her. "Okay, okay, I get it. You both have sexual frustration of massive proportions. But now I'm going to get yelled at by Britain because of it!" He fought the urge to shrink back under the look Elizabeta shot him. "Why don't you try actually _settling_ this vendetta of yours for once? Or at least let someone else take care of the problem or whatever?"

Elizabeta drew to a halt at the elevator doors, pressing the button and returning her skillet to whatever void she had withdrawn it from. "What are you talking about?"

"Try telling Germany or Austria or whoever instead of dealing with it yourself (and dragging others down with you)." Alfred wrinkled his nose. What was he, some PSA broadcaster? "Look, just get the help of someone to, you know, set Prussia straight!"

The Hungarian looked at him blankly, uneasily smoothing wrinkles from her dress. This probed Alfred to continue.

"Or, you know, I hear that there is this amazingly heroic guy around by the name of America who you could get to help you." He smirked. "I don't know if he'd have enough time in his schedule for something so petty, but… I might be able to hook you up."

The elevator doors parted with a chime. Elizabeta frowned slightly. "I'll have to reject that offer. I can handle my own problems, thank you very much."

Alfred trot into the machine, reaching forward habitually to mash all of the floor buttons at once. Elizabeta must have noticed the glint in his eye as she smacked his hand away and hit the seventh floor button.

"But all damsels in distress need a hero! I'm sure that without the help of someone else, Prussia would totally be all annoying or whatever and his bird would take a dump where you least expect it, and, dude, don't even get me started on… Hungary?" The American faltered to a halt upon noticing the new withering glare Elizabeta shot him. He threw his palms up. "_What did I do this time?_"

"What did you call me?" Elizabeta didn't bat an eye as the elevator began its ascent.

"Uhh…" Alfred drawled, forcing his memory to backtrack. "'Hungary'?"

"No, before that." The Hungarian prompted.

"… 'Dude'?"

"_No. _'Damsel in distress'. Is that what you called me?" The nation folded her arms.

"Yeah, I said that." Alfred was seriously confused. "What about it?"

"I'll have you know that I am _not, _in fact, a 'damsel in distress'." Elizabeta wore a heavy frown. "If anything, I'm more of a man than Prussia will ever be, and I'm more of a nation than _you _will ever be. The mere thought that you believe otherwise disgusts me."

This confused Alfred even more. "Yo, that's so not cool to drag me into it like that! I'll have you know that _all _women, no matter how strong they may look or claim to be, are damsels in distress! (Even masculine and testosterone-rich women, such as yourself-)"

"What about the times when _men _are the damsels in distress? When _women _save them?" Elizabeta interjected.

_What is she getting so worked up about? You'd think she never watched Superman before! _"Yeah, _no_. That almost never happens. It's really rare, mainly because only _guys _can be the _cool _superheroes. You know, I'm not too sure what spurred this, but when it comes to superheroes I know what I'm talking about."

Elizabeta's expression changed to that of disdain as Alfred continued.

"In fact, dude, I'm quite certain that only _guys _canmake good heroes. Not girls."

"_You son of a—_"

Her reply was drowned out under the groan of the elevator.

The lights flickered briefly before drowning the pair in complete darkness. Alfred's gaze snapped to the door, though everything was encased in black caused the concept of 'seeing' to be a vain one.

"What happened?" Alfred asked, feebly reaching through the darkness for any kind of solid object.

His hand collided with Elizabeta's forehead; she promptly smacked it. "I don't know, but it was most likely _your _fault. After all, _women _can't do anything, according to you. How could a _woman _such as myself break something like this? It was obviously the _man's_ doing."

"Hey, I didn't say that!"

"Then what _did _you say?" Elizabeta challenged.

Alfred opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted as the lights came back on.

The elevator whirred to life, suddenly lifting them again and continuing as if nothing had happened. Alfred tilt his head. "… Uhh…?"

At least he could see again! Alfred looked to Elizabeta.

Elizabeta still looked ready to throw a punch right into the American's nose, so Alfred decided it would be best to attempt to calm things, at least for the time being.

"… So, did you ever watch the Superman movie, or…?"

The Hungarian rolled her eyes, muttering something along the lines of "thank God" as the elevator doors opened on their floor. She exited promptly without a further word to Alfred.

"Well 'bye' to you, too," Alfred snorted, pausing to slip back on his shoes before following after her.

He took a moment to brief over the fact that this was why he preferred _American _technology… and American movies… and American food, and _America _for that matter-

Elizabeta vanished into the meeting room just ahead with a slam of the door.

Alfred trot after her, suppressing a groan. _And here comes the explaining to Arthur…_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Aye, there be a long chapter ahead. Arm yeself with munchies and blankets. :I **

**My apologies for the length, my chapters don't usually go on for some 4k words. x'D The reason for this is that I am trying to rush to the part where our American protagonist actually undergoes his genderswap, which will most likely occur either next chapter or in two chapters, depending on if I want to torture you guys with a cliffhanger or not. c: The next chapter won't be this long, no worries. x'3**

**Thank you, sorry about the interruption, and happy reading! c:**

* * *

This was the end.

Alfred's head inclined, his shoulders slumping forward.

This was where the inevitable doom he had prolonged for so long caught up to him.

This was the game over of life.

This was… _when his phone's battery died_.

Now how was he supposed to upload his newest selfie to Instagram?! Well, yes, it _was _actually a picture of the half-eaten hamburger he'd had on the plane trip to this meeting, but that didn't matter! He had even made sure to use the vintage filter specifically for the purpose of tagging the picture 'no filters'!

Alfred pouted. He glanced at the walls, searching for a clock. Just how much longer would he be stuck here?

His brows lifted in shock when he found the nearest source of time (which meant leaning over Feliciano to check what his watch read).

Had Alfred really spent two hours doing nothing but play Fruit Ninja and browse Instagram? How long had this meeting run so far, anyways? He supposed it was time to check back to reality and see what was happening.

Next to him, Feliciano had his forehead resting on his hands and was fast asleep, a smile on his features as he pooled saliva onto the desk under him. It seemed that some other nations had followed the Italian's lead and were either shamelessly napping at their seat or somehow succeeding at knocking out while remaining in an upright position.

Alfred let his gaze wander to the head of the room.

Im Yong Soo was talking, a cheesy power point visualizing main ideas and important concepts of his lecture. Alfred couldn't complain about the slides being shown; at least it wasn't as bad as Britain's power point. The Briton had included the almost _painful _sound effects and corny transitions that caused side effects of cringing and yelping from around the room.

Many different languages were splayed across the screen behind Im Yong Soo; Alfred didn't even want to bother finding the English translation. Hell, he didn't even want to _listen _to English. Alfred didn't have the patience for this meeting anymore; he hadn't done his daily rounds on Facebook yet and was beginning to grow antsy.

In addition to his patience problem, a new crisis had become imminent a short time earlier.

Alfred had noticed he was feeling generally _discomforted. _He didn't exactly know how to describe it; it was an unpleasant, uncomfortable feeling and it was the only thing keeping Alfred from falling asleep. In Alfred's book, that was a serious offense and would be dealt with accordingly.

… How was he supposed to "deal" with that kind of thing?

Alfred wasn't certain, but he was pretty sure it involved robots.

The Nation of America looked up just in time to witness Francis toss a stick of gum across the room. Antonio caught it, nodding his thanks with a smile. Alfred watched wistfully as the Spaniard popped the stick into his mouth, chewing it slowly. His smile contorted into a disgusted expression.

_'What _is _this?!' _Antonio mouthed, horror glued onto his features.

Alfred swung his head around to look at Francis.

_'_Escargot_ flavored gum!'_ The Frenchman took Alfred a few rounds of mental mad-lib to guess what Francis had just said based on his lips alone.

Antonio didn't reply; the soft gag that came from his throat answered for him. He rapidly rose from his seat and darted for a trashcan, spitting out the gum and hacking violently a few times. Francis wore an offended expression.

Alfred returned his gaze to the head of the room where Im Yong Soo was concluding his presentation. A few people offered claps as the South Korean voiced his thanks and returned to his seat.

Arthur stood up, taking his place at the head of the room. He fidgeted with organizing papers; Alfred lazily took note of the Briton's habit of fixing them every time he went up front.

Alfred shifted once, and then twice in his seat as the silence stretched on. He tapped his fingers rhythmically against the desk. Nothing was distracting him from the discomfort that currently churned throughout his body. It almost felt like adrenaline, yet it was causing him a physical pain that couldn't be pinned to one spot on his body. The feeling was nagging at him slowly, filling Alfred with a gradually intensifying sort of dread.

… _Was _it intensifying? Alfred noted that it was certainly stronger than it had been half an hour ago.

Could it be boredom? No, Alfred had been bored since the second he'd walked through the doors to the meeting room. He had been forced to make up a story to Arthur to explain his tardiness that involved old men and burritos.

Then what was this feeling? Was it hunger? Alfred was _always _hungry, so that couldn't have been it either.

_What was it_? Alfred squirmed again, hoping to subdue the uneasy feeling in the pit of his belly.

"Right, I hope you all remember what South Korea has told us for when we prepare to sign the treaty on cleaning the polluted coastal waters of Europe." Arthur had finished sorting through his papers and now looked to what Alfred assumed was the list of topics. "Now, if I'm not mistaken, Denmark had a proposition to discuss? After he does so, I believe we'll be able to adjourn this meeting."

A few relieved noises.

Arthur glared daggers at their sources. "Denmark, why don't you come up here and enlighten us? I'm pretty sure some of the nations in this room won't be able to stand sitting much longer."

Mathias Køhler stood up with a wide grin. "Sounds like a plan!"

_Thank God, someone actually _interesting! Alfred folded his arms and settled into his seat. Mathias would surely pull the nations of their bored state and would most certainly steal the cake with his amazing presentation! _Don't fail me now, dude!_

"Let's get down to business, shall we?" The rather arrogant smile didn't leave Mathias' face. He pulled a small cardboard box from some unknown void (how did he and Elizabeta have connection to this odd realm? Alfred wanted in on it so he had a place to store _his _items as well!) and set it on the closest desk to him with a _thump_.

Tino Väinämöinen stiffened a small ways ahead of Alfred, exchanging a frantic glance with Lukas Bondevik.

Mathias folded open the top and reached into the box. He fussed with the contents for what felt like ages, gritting his teeth slightly as he fidgeted with the unknown items within. A few nations allowed uneasy comments.

"Got it!" Mathias grunted, pulling his hands from the box.

Alfred's eyes widened.

… Were those _Power Rangers_?

The few murmurs that had started hushed and fell silent.

On each of Mathias' hands were sock puppets. One of them, an old blue wool sock, was smothered in glitter and had what Alfred suspected was dried pasta glued sloppily to its head. The other, a faded shade of red, had a Barbie head pasted in a terrifying angle on to the top, the menacing child's toy seeming to scream with the agony of being decapitated and used in such a degrading manner.

"_Voi__luoja_..." Tino cupped his face with his hands. "I told him it was a bad idea!"

Lukas reached over to offer Tino a cautious pat on the back. "We all did."

"_Ahem,_" Ludwig cleared his throat from behind Alfred. "How are… Care Bears supposed to relate to this meeting?"

"_Care Bears_? I thought those were supposed to be those My Little Ponies, you know, the ones that only thirty year old Americans are in to." Yao Wang objected. "But then again, these look a bit too…_ lumpy._"

"Hey, I'll have you know that Friendship is _Magic_!" Alfred snapped. "But that's obviously something someone like _you _wouldn't understand, is it?"

Arthur stepped forward from where he'd receded out of the spotlight. "_Denmark, _now would be an appropriate time to continue," he advised in an almost panicked tone.

Mathias frowned at the three who had spoken up. "What, you can't tell from my artistry that these two are _Sweden_ and _Finland_?"

"_Oooh!" _Alfred exclaimed, hearing a few others chorus his onomatopoeia from around the room.

"Denmark_,_" Tino warned in a low tone.

Mathias winked. "No worries, I got this! You'll thank me later for this proposition!" He whispered back, shielding a corner of his mouth with a puppet.

"And… what exactly are you proposing?" Arthur urged, seeming to try and connect nonexistent dots.

"_Denmark!" _Tino was frantic now, his face contorted with horror. "_Don't. Do. It_!"

"You and the fangirls will thank me later," The Danish man waved the sock puppets with an untiring grin. "I am proposing that Sweden and Finland totally need to hook up—"

Tino had successfully found a grip on a water bottle and flung it at Mathias. The Danish man sprawled backwards. Tino stiffly turned to face the sitting nations, his face sporting a bright shade of pink. "A-And the meeting is over! Let's go, everyone!"

The Finnish man stumbled towards the exit, nearly tripping on his way out of the room.

Mathias picked himself up and followed closely, using his fingers and thumb to make the sock puppets talk in a raucous tone. "Come on, Finland! You know you want the D!" The pair of Nordics sprinted down the hall.

Feliciano lurched forward, his gravity-defying curl twitching slightly. "Oh, it's time to go?" He stood up in a heartbeat's notice, all traces of his nap immediately leaving his demeanor. "Let's go and eat somewhere, Germany!"

Alfred stared blankly at the Italian. If only _he _had the ability to wake up so quickly: sometimes it took him hours just to get out of bed in the morning (_Woah, dude, how did he know the meeting was over if he was asleep…?_)!

"… Fine, fine. Why don't you invite Japan, as well?" Ludwig cast an uneasy glance at Arthur. "Is the meeting over, Britain?"

Arthur glared slightly at the box Mathias had left behind. "Yes, I do believe so."

"In that case, I'll go ask him now!" Feliciano cheered, slipping across the meeting room. "_Japaaan~!_"

Alfred patted his pockets, making sure his phone was on his person before rising to his feet.

Though Alfred had been distracted from the distressed feeling he held in his belly, it suddenly rushed back to him with a vengeance as he stood up.

His lips twitched into a slight frown.

"Food sounds like an exquisite idea!" Francis announced, weaving through a few other departing nations to join Arthur at the head of the room. "What kind of fine dining do you have here, Britain?"

Arthur glowered. "English cooking, of course."

"Oh… what a shame, you've soiled yet another generation's taste buds with your revolting cooking." Francis held up his hands, shaking his head. "What are we to do if that _slop _you call food were to spread further? It's already affected America!"

Yao Wang spoke up before America could rebuke. "Pretty-boy is correct! France, we need to show them true cooking before the taste of real food is lost to all of their people!"

"_Oui, _we need to treat them to true cuisine! Russia, come over here! We need to make sure we save these poor souls from the path of destruction they have treaded!" Francis slung an arm around both the American and Briton's shoulders. "We must go!"

"I haven't heard _this _one before," Arthur sarcastically remarked, jerking out of the Frenchman's grip. Ivan planted a firm hand on Arthur's shoulder as he tried to escape.

"Hey, man, it's free food! Why are you acting all grumpy about it?" Alfred objected, though he as well squirmed free of Francis' grip. He nearly stumbled into Natalya Arlovskaya, who glared at him harshly before dusting herself off and exiting the room.

Arthur's verdant eyes flashed and he rounded on Alfred. "I'm 'acting all grumpy about it' because last time the only one who got 'free food' was you four! I ended up paying for it all, and I know that without a doubt I'll end up paying this time as well! That is why I decline!"

Francis smiled. "Don't worry, Britain_,_ I'll pay this time! All you have to do is come and eat with us! It'll be just like old times, _non_?"

"You know, it may be too late to revert his taste in food… He's already pretty far lost in the woods of _tastelessness_." Yao Wang remarked. "Why waste money on him?"

"It's never too late when it comes to food! Come on, we're totally—wait, you're paying for mine too? Yes? Okay, then we're totally going! Come on, Igglet!" Alfred cried, latching an arm around Arthur's and hauling him towards the exit. Yao Wang, Ivan, and Francis were quick to follow.

Alfred swung his head away so that he could allow his smile to fade without having to face confrontation; this… this _odd_ feeling was affecting his body quite negatively. He needed to fix it before it brought his mood down, too! Food would most definitely be the solution, Alfred decided.

With the Allies temporarily reunited, Alfred lead the way to the elevator and then out of the building.

"To a French restaurant, we go!"

"You git, _let go of me!" _

"It isn't my fault you walk too slow, dude! Let's go already, this way!"

He took a left down the sidewalk and began walking with a confident stride, not releasing his hold on the Briton.

"Other way, idiot!" Arthur hissed, trying and failing to yank his arm free of the American's grasp. "Why are you even leading _me_ in _my own _country?"

"Oh, I knew that! And because, I'm the _Hero_!" Alfred couldn't make his point any more obvious. "Now let's go, we have food awaiting our arrival!"

"_Huzzah._" Arthur snorted.

"Huzzah!" Alfred and Francis cheered in reply. Ivan and Yao Wang exchanged a glance.

* * *

Alfred stared at the plate of French cuisine in front of him.

"Bro, this is almost big enough to hide like a baby in or something!" He exclaimed, leaning forward. His body warned him with a wave of queasiness that fast movements weren't the best idea.

Francis approached the table, a man by his side. The pair exchanged a few warm sentences in French before they shook hands and parted; Francis then pulled back his chair and scooted into the table.

"Who was that, France?" Ivan asked, though his tone spoke more of politeness than interest. Alfred fought the urge to habitually glare at the Russian.

"That was the chef. He's an old friend of mine." Francis smiled softly, opening a wine bottle. With great delicacy he filled his wineglass to the brim. "I asked him to double the size of your orders. Simply amazing, aren't I?"

"About as amazing as a loaf of bread," Arthur muttered into his cup, lifting the glass further to take a sip of wine. Alfred couldn't fight the tiniest of smiles as he noted the loaf of French bread each of the gathered nations' plates.

The smell of the bread alone was causing Alfred to suffer. _It smells so good, man! _He didn't even want to get started on the scent of the main course itself.

"C-Can we eat now?" Alfred asked, trying (and failing) to hide his enthusiasm to tear into the food.

"We can start eating as soon as Yao Wang returns from the bathroom." Francis advised, casting said facilities a glance.

"_America. _Stop drooling," Arthur hissed.

Alfred snorked and fixed his error with the back of a palm.

The American was vaguely aware that Ivan and Francis were discussing something, but his mind took no note of it. He was busy having a staring contest with the mountain of food in front of him.

It was a matter of minutes before Yao Wang returned.

"Jeez, dude, how long does it take you to freakin' use the bathroom?" Alfred exclaimed. "That was like ten minutes!"

Yao Wang shot Alfred a hot glare. "It takes me as long as it takes the man currently occupying the single bathroom to finish his _business_. Here's a hint: it didn't smell like roses."

All of the nations, void Ivan, shuddered.

"Before we have our appetites ruined, why don't you sit down?" The Briton gestured towards the empty seat next to Alfred. "Your food arrived while you were gone."

"I'm glad to see the service here isn't slow." Yao Wang lifted his nose slightly as he sat down.

Alfred rolled his eyes, only to freeze as Arthur shot him a smoldering glare.

"Now that we are all here…" Francis flashed a grin, picking up his utensils and nodding towards the food in front of him. "I believe it is time to eat. You could say, _bon appétit?_"

No one needed to be told twice. The nations followed Francis' example and began eating.

Alfred fidgeted in his seat, unable to cope with his conflicting feelings. On one hand, a heap of food had been given to him and he was expected to eat it. On the other, he wasn't feeling all too hot and couldn't be sure if he would regret eating this, seeing as he had an eight hour flight back to America the following evening. On the _other _hand, there was _food _that was _free _and _right there in front of him for the eating. _

… Did the person that Alfred just mentally conceived have three arms?

"America, it is not wise to waste food." Ivan spoke up from beside him, startling the American out of his thoughts.

"Wha… Uhh, right! I know that! Who do you think you are to talk to _me _about food? Jeez…" Alfred puffed, grabbing a fork and stabbing it into the food in front of him.

His insides churned but Alfred pushed it down, taking a bite of the food. It was delicious and savory on Alfred's tongue. Since this was the case, why did Alfred's odd illness only seem to intensify?

Arthur eyed Alfred curiously and took another sip of wine; this action didn't go unnoticed by Francis.

"_Bretagne, _do you have a liking for this particular wine? If you'd like, I could have it delivered directly to your house…" Francis purred, trailing off suggestively.

Arthur almost choked. "You are disgusting."

"That's not what you imply by eating my food so eagerly~" Francis contradicted, pausing to take another bite of his homeland's food.

"Why must you two always find a way to fight, even during something as simple as eating? You two are like small children!" Yao Wang scolded.

"Don't you get started!" Arthur hissed, stiffly continuing to eat.

Alfred squirmed. He didn't want to deal with their usual brawl, at least not today. He picked at his food for a moment before taking a small bite.

"But he has a point," Ivan stated.

"I do." Yao Wang and Arthur both chorused. They promptly glared at each other.

"You young countries don't have a right to speak like that. Why don't you just admit that you like his wine and be over with it?" Yao Wang's eyes narrowed.

"B-Because I absolutely despise it!" Arthur huffed, nudging the cup of wine out of his own reach.

Francis leaned towards Arthur, his eyes fluttering tauntingly. "What, are you too afraid to admit that you have nothing this _delicious_ in your own country to enjoy?"

Alfred could _feel _that the storm brewing was about to break. His patience snapped.

The American stood up, clearing his throat. Arthur froze, looking up at him.

"I… think I'm going to go now."

There was a beat of silence. Alfred wasn't about to let this chance go to waste.

"Err… Thanks, France. See you guys." He turned on a heel and began walking from the restaurant.

"America," He heard Arthur call, but Alfred ignored it. It was impossible to overlook the fact that the feeling in his gut was most certainly _painful _now, like a headache for the soul. He really just wanted to return to his hotel and sleep.

And that is exactly what he did.

… Well, _almost _exactly.

Alfred drowsed through the taxi trip back to his hotel. After signing in and taking the journey up seven floors to his room, he was more than happy to go to the bedroom, collapse onto his bed and snuggle into the blankets.

He didn't even care that they smelled like elderly women; the sheets were cool and felt good after a long day of sitting.

Alfred lay there a moment more before picking himself up and changing his clothes. Business suits were really sweaty after a day's length of wearing them, he noted.

And then he found it.

Alfred was sprawled atop said bed, half-listening to _The Three Amigos _on the television when he was finally able to pin the pain he was feeling to a certain point: his chest.

He tapped at his collarbone in thought. Maybe he should take some medication for this problem of his?

The American rolled over and picked up the receiver, punching in a pair of zeros into the phone and bringing it to his ear.

"Hello? Yes, I'd like to order a room service. Hamburgers! Oh, just a few… I think, like, thirty or so should be fine. No, I _did _say thirty! What? …Ugh, fine, _five _will work. Thanks."

_Are you people trying to starve me or something? _Alfred glowered at the ceiling, letting the phone fall from his fingers and clatter onto the floor. Then again, he wasn't using these burgers for food: rather, he would pile them atop his chest and wait for the pain to ebb away.

Waiting for the food was always the worst part of room service. The staff seemed to catch him at the worst of times when he would just _happen _to be unavailable to answer the door. In order to prevent this odd occurrence, Alfred made sure to do _absolutely nothing _that could be interrupted and cause him to not get his food.

Alfred lay for a few moments; he sang along to the song _Blue Shadows _as it played in the movie; he tried to distinguish shapes in the ceiling material; he pulled out his phone and managed to add a few thousand cookies to his stash in Cookie Clicker before his phone died again.

Oh, right, he needed to charge his phone! Alfred fumbled through his suitcase and found his charger… as well as his Captain America boxers.

Wasn't he already wearing these? A quick check proved him wrong. Alfred couldn't _believe _he'd actually attended a meeting without wearing his lucky boxers! What kind of person was he to betray the Captain like that? He needed to make up for it immediately.

The Nation of America made sure to plug in his phone before slipping out of his current boxers and reaching for his other pair.

A sudden _knock, knock, knock! _discombobulated the American completely. The door? Alfred attempted to pull up his boxers as quickly as he could but realized he had put both legs into the same side of the boxers by doing so. There was another trio of knocks.

"Your room service is here, Mr. Jones!" A female voice announced.

"_Of course._" Alfred groaned. He rose his voice, "Could you just leave it… inside? By the table?"

A pause. "Err, no, sir, but I can leave them out here by the door if you can get them momentarily. Would that be alright?"

Alfred was struggling to fix his boxer dilemma. He stumbled into the other room. "Yeah, that's fine. I'll be there in a sec'."

He could hear the woman walking away. Alfred continued in an odd shuffle towards the door, hoping that he could quickly pull the cart into the room before someone noticed him and his… _predicament_.

The American was halfway through the living room when his feet snagged on one another.

_Crap!_

It was an agonizingly slow process to an inevitable fall as Alfred teetered this way and that, flailing his arms in a wild struggle to stay upright while babbling random obscenities. It was only a matter of heartbeats before gravity finally decided to pull him face-first onto the carpet below. Alfred made harsh contact with the floor below, his chest smashing into the ground moments before his forehead did the same.

Alfred paused to swallow air as the breath had been knocked out of his lungs.

Oddly enough, the pain in his chest stopped.

Smiling with relief, Alfred re-railed his train of thought and made it his first order of business to fix his boxers.

It took a few moments of mad thrashing on the ground before he finally was able to free himself, but Alfred was victorious in returning his boxers to their designated position. He let out a triumphant laugh.

Next, there was a tray of burgers waiting to be rescued from out in the hallway.

Alfred pushed himself off of the ground, rising to his full height and preparing to stride towards the door.

He grimaced with a strangled gasp.

With sudden renewed pain, his chest screamed at him as though on fire, conjuring enough force to make Alfred lightheaded. He stumbled for a wall, his vision blurring, though the ground gave way (once again) beneath him. His limbs stalled in his grogginess; providing any support to his falling body was now impossible.

The American vaguely registered hitting the ground past his chest's smarting. His head swam as he fought to register what was happening.

This time Alfred had landed on his side, though this time Alfred couldn't get up.


	4. Chapter 4

Alfred pulled himself out of a light snooze.

The room smelled vaguely of the elderly and Febreeze, the night sky just barely visible through a window from behind the simple English curtains draped on a nearby wall. The T.V. in the other room was playing what Alfred believed may or may not have been _Eight Mile_.

The atmosphere was calm and homely, much as expected of a hotel. Yet… something seemed off.

_Huh. I'm on the floor. Why am I on the floor? _The American attempted to get up, only to freeze with a sharp inhale. _Oh. Right._

The immediate sting of his chest did not delay to greet him.

Alfred noticed that the pain had certainly intensified from what had seemed a mild ache to what was now a physical _hurt_. He was still lost on what exactly this sensation would be titled. Wasn't resting supposed to _heal _him, not make his condition _worse_?

Alfred released a huff of frustration.

What had awoken him from his drowsing in the first place? Falling asleep in such a state was hard enough; the carpet wasn't doing all too much to comfort his stay on the ground. "Five star hotel, my ass…"

It only took a moment for Alfred to realize just what, in fact, had disturbed his catnap.

_"Wa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pow! Wa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pow!"_

"God, Iggy! Have you ever heard of a concept called _texting_?" Alfred groaned, pressing his forehead further into the rug in a hope to drown out the Briton's custom-set ringtone. It wasn't _Alfred's_ fault he picked this song: the idea had seemed good at the time!

After a few seconds more of the Norwegian song ("Yo, Norway, dude, this is awesome! I didn't know you had it in you!" "… Never speak of this."), the song abruptly cut into silence.

The United States sighed and rolled onto his back with a slight wince. Every movement seemed to heighten the sensation that refused to go away. _Jeez, it's as stubborn as I am!_

"Now it's just you and me, angina."

The throbbing didn't lessen.

Kneading at his collar bone, Alfred promptly decided to continue the conversation. "If a nation falls with no one in earshot, does he or she make a sound?"

No reply.

"Yeah, I'm thinking that they do."

Still nothing.

"God, is being on the floor in a pair of Captain America boxers and having _class _at the same time too much to ask? If you don't mind, man, I'm going to attempt to get some more sleep." Alfred twisted over, curling into himself for warmth. England wasn't exactly the warmest of places this late into the year. It seemed that in Alfred's case, colds weren't the _only_ things that could be caught when the temperatures dropped.

… Was this even an illness? Or was it the result of his health habits? He refused to believe such a thing as he was most certainly as skinny and healthy as a twig. Right? Had he taken that diet program for no reason? Wait, when was the last time he'd even checked his weight?

_Get a hold of yourself, dude! _Alfred issued an immediate mental slap. He would only make his condition worse by fretting. He needed to think of something that would calm him down.

Something soothing, something soothing…

_Aardvarks._

… Were aardvarks really the first thought that popped into his head?

_Aardvarks are hella soothing._

In that case, aardvarks it was.

It was with peaceful thoughts of aardvarks that the American was eased towards sleep, the darkness finally beginning to drape over his mind, rest coming _at last_ to overtake his body and help Alfred escape this void of ache—

_Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock!_

The harsh banging against his hotel door had Alfred upright in an instant. He was spared a second of mercy before the pain returned with a vengeance, washing over him like a wave. Alfred wished that the invader would leave and allow him more rest.

"America, open the door! This is Britain!" Another set of furious knocks.

Alfred rammed his head against the ground. Why was _Britain _here, _now _of all times?! Did he jinx it? Was it too late to _un-_jinx it? Maybe if he stayed quiet long enough and started knocking on the carpet for a bit, the Briton would go away—

"_America!" _Arthur barked impatiently. "For God's sake, this isn't funny!"

_Hey, I think it is! Maybe you'll start arguing with your unicorn again! _Alfred smirked at the thought, peering at the door in silence.

"Look, just… _I swear, it's like I'm negotiating with a child…" _The mutter was perfectly audible to the American (who now rolled his eyes). "Okay, something is wrong and you need to tell me what it is. Don't even try lying to me, America. First you refuse _food_, next you don't answer my calls for over _half an hour_ and now… _this! _A cart of uneaten burgers outside of your room!_ My God, _are you _dying? _America, you need to open the door _this instant!_"

_ Thirty minutes? Didn't he call me just thirty _seconds _ago? _Had Alfred fallen asleep?

Arthur landed a final blow to the door. Alfred strained to pick up his voice from the other side of the wall. "You bloody idiot… Please don't tell me you went and got yourself held hostage or something."

_… What? _Me, _being held hostage_?Alfred blinked at the door and had to refrain from letting out a laugh. He instead made some sort of strangled noise. "Dude, you're such an _idiot…_" He breathed.

The silence from beyond stretched on. "If… if you don't say something in one minute, I'm breaking down the door." Arthur's voice held a note of worry that Alfred doubted would have existed had there been any sign of life nearby.

_Ha! One of these doors? I'd like to see him try that. _

"… Thirty seconds!"

Alfred let out a long sigh. Couldn't Arthur just leave? He reminded Alfred of those Boy Scouts that really rubbed him the wrong way. Girl Scouts were one thing because, to put it simply, they sold _cookies. Good _cookies. Boy Scouts, on the other hand, were always asking for donations. This wasn't bad, Alfred supposed, as long as he used some of Yao Wang's money and not his own to donate, but—

"A-America, I'm coming in!"

Without a second's haste, a harsh thump followed by another sounded from the door. Alfred nearly jumped as the door's handle popped out of place, the massive piece of wood itself swinging open and slamming against the wall. A generic painting hung nearby fell from the wall.

Arthur lowered his foot from midair, his eyes sweeping the room frantically. It was a matter of seconds before Arthur's gaze fell upon Alfred, glittering verdant eyes clashing with subdued blue.

"B-Bloody hell, what happened to you?!" The Briton rushed forward, grabbing Alfred by the shoulders in a motion so fluid that Alfred failed to realize what was happening. "Are you injured? Who did this?!"

"I—God, bro, why are you holding onto me so hard?! I'm fine!" Alfred hissed. He lifted his arms to try and feebly slap the other away.

Being moved was causing the gripe in his chest to heighten.

Alfred gave the other man a shove. "Didn't you hear me? I said I'm _fine!"_

Arthur's eyes narrowed to slits. "_Really_? So I suppose it's normal for you Americans to lie on the floor for what I assume to be hours on end and clutch your chests?"

Was he still clutching his chest? Oh. Alfred removed his hand, frowning. "Just—go away. Can't you tell I'm busy hugging the ground?"

"America, you and I both know you can't even get a girl, let alone the _ground, _to hug you. Now come on, I'm taking you to a hospital. Where does your chest hurt?"

"Nowhere." Alfred replied too quickly.

Arthur scoffed. "Wrong answer."

The Briton once again attempted to pull Alfred to his feet. Alfred's face contorted into a grimace. "Wha—fuck—dude, stop! Put me down!" Alfred thrashed against the other's grip. "Let go of me!" The icy sears of pain were much worse when he was standing the first time, Alfred hastily noted. _Why is it always worse instead of better the second time?! This isn't Call of Duty, dammit!_

"No! Just stop resisting, you need help!" Arthur tugged Alfred towards the door. "And watch your crude language!"

Alfred felt panic flare in the pit of his belly. Going to a hospital was the _last _thing he wanted! Hospitals were limited, white, and boring—he would be absolutely fine in the comfort of his own home!… or, in this case, the comfort of his own hotel room.

_Forgive me—Wait, no, I really don't care either way, man. _Alfred swung an arm forward, throwing his balled fist at his assailant's shoulder.

The Briton didn't even flinch.

"Wha…" How had his punch not fazed the Briton, if not thrown him across the room? _Got milk, much?_

Arthur seemed to notice this as well, his eyes wide and face pale. "America, we are—No, I'm calling an ambulance."

"Britain!_" _Alfred snapped, "_No! _We are not doing that!"

"And why not?!" Arthur proved himself to be just as good at articulating words, "Something is seriously wrong with you!"

"I am—!" Alfred dropped his voice upon realizing their screaming match had no definite end in sight. "Beer, I had too much beer," Alfred lied. "I just need to lay down for a bit, okay, man? Get off of my case already!"

Arthur froze mid-fumble for his pocket. "Yes, I'm sure _that's_ true_. _You've had enough beer to make you ill for an _entire evening_ and cause _only your chest _to hurt?" The British man's voice was cold. "But then, that _would_ explain your lack of trousers."

"N-No, really! I did drink, dude, you can go check the trashcan, there are like twenty bottles in there! It's not just my chest, it's like, my entire body. And my head, too. Oh, man, my head. Totally hurts, you get me?" _Please buy the bluff! _Alfred currently lacked the mental strength to pull together any other farces.

The Briton's caterpillar-for-brows twitched. Alfred leapt at the display of doubt, hoping to use this chance to sway Arthur into leaving.

"Really," Alfred puffed, grabbing the collar of Arthur's shirt pleadingly. "I, I just need a burger and some water and I'll sleep the hangover away." _Buy the bluff, man! _"You can go, I'll be fine!"

"…" Arthur stared coldly at Alfred. The silence in which Arthur's mind almost visibly churned stretched on for what felt like hours. Finally, relief came via a snort. "I don't believe you, but… since you're so intent on staying…"

Arthur stood up, a signal of resignation. Alfred felt relief smother the flame of anxiety that had engulfed him. "Oh, thank God, man—"

"I'm not leaving. At least not yet."

And thus the flame returned.

"_C'mon, _dude!" Alfred groaned. "Ever heard of a little _privacy?"_

The Briton apparently decided that further argument would be a waste of breath. "Just come on, at least pull yourself to bed and sleep like a proper human being."

"But I'm not a human being, I'm a _nation!" _Alfred groaned again. Arthur's brows set and a glaring match between the two began.

Alfred almost immediately gave up. As a wise man had once said before him, _ain't nobody got time for that. _

Arthur reached forward again, and this time Alfred (begrudgingly) allowed himself to be hauled to his feet._ Here we go… _

The inevitable flash of pain, dizzying and sharp, shot through Alfred. Arthur's arm flashed out to catch him before he could fall.

Alfred cast the Briton a look in a last, vain hope that he could be left on the ground. The look on Arthur's face was a dismayingly familiar one: it was his infamous 'I am Having None of it' scowl.

The American grit his teeth. "Let's just get this over with."

Alfred took a step forward, and then another.

"Good." Arthur sniffed arrogantly from beside him. "I was getting tired of your complaining."

Alfred leaned heavily against the Briton's arm. He was having trouble registering the fact that they were moving. "As long as you get your way, right, Princess?" Alfred snidely remarked, his face unconsciously twisting in pain.

Arthur didn't reply as he set the pair at a lax pace towards the bedroom.

Alfred followed Arthur's guidance while Arthur half-grunted warnings about litter ("For the love of God, don't you know how to clean up after yourself?!"). The short pace across the hotel room felt like a large journey for the agonized American.

"Here, your bed." Arthur nodded to the furniture.

_Finally! _Alfred freed himself from the aid of Arthur and buckled heavily onto his bed, falling into the cushions in a fashion akin to a stone statue collapsing.

"… If you're going to convince me not to call the paramedics on you, the least you could do is look a little less like you're on your last leg."

"… _Nnng_." It was a moment more of stillness before Alfred complied and flopped over. He furrowed his brows. "_Happy?"_

"No." Arthur's own brow-furrowing beat Alfred's by a long shot. "You're still quite far you're your usual character. Just… throw in some broken English here and there or complain about being hungry. You know, the usual annoying things you do. You're seriously alarming me, America."

"Well, gee, _thanks." _Alfred wrinkled his nose. The sooner he satisfied the Briton, the sooner he left. "In that case, I'm thirsty. Can you get me some water instead of just standing there and staring at me all creepy-like?"

Though Arthur attempted a scathing look, the overall tone of relief on his features prevented him from looking threatening. "Yes, I'll do that now."

The Briton turned and left. Alfred watched him depart, relaxing further into the bed.

The last thing Alfred remembered seeing before sleep smuggled him into its depths was Arthur's return into the room.

* * *

The sun trickled through Alfred's parted curtains, seeping into his eyes. The dancing light roused the American from his slumber, his blue eyes groggily opening into a pair of blue slits.

The sun? It was morning?

Alfred sat up, stretching his arms high above his head. That had been a decidedly good sleep.

His head snapped towards the door. _Is Eyebrows still here?_

There was no sign of the Briton, much to Alfred's relief.

"I guess it's better that he's gone opposed to finding him sleeping somewhere in my hotel room. That wouldn't be the first time something like that happened…" Frowning slightly at the thought, Alfred instinctively reached a hand towards the nightstand.

His glasses sat on top of a folded piece of paper. He peered at it curiously before grabbing both his glasses (conveniently nicknamed Texas) and the note.

_ America, _it read in disgustingly neat handwriting on the top. Alfred opened it from where it was creased down the middle.

_You fell asleep, so I took the liberty of taking off your glasses and tucking you in. You never fully grew up, did you? _("And you never fully let go," Alfred muttered to the inanimate audience known as the note.) _I set a glass of water out as well as a couple of Tylenol in the case it helped you. _

Alfred cast a glance towards the night stand, slipping on his glasses in the process, and confirmed the presence of the painkillers.

_I didn't call any doctors or medical staff. I have a business meeting I must attend to with my boss about the United Nations meeting, so I had to leave and couldn't stay the night. I expect you to eat a healthy breakfast. I picked up some of the trash off of your floor._

_ Call me if you need anything._

_ Britain._

"You fart." Alfred nearly laughed, folding the card shut and leaning back into the pillows. He noticed writing on the back.

_ P.S. I checked your trash can. There wasn't a single bottle of beer. I called Lithuania, seeing as he was one of your few friends remaining in England at the moment, and he is going to be checking up on you at 10:00 am. If you do not answer the door or leave before he arrives, I will personally come find you and drag you to a doctor. Cheerio._

"_Britain—_" Alfred cut off his own snarl as he dug around for his phone. It, too, was placed neatly on his bedside table.

Alfred unlocked the electronic and peered at the time. _9:34 am. _Good, he hadn't slept through meeting with Toris. _You really are a pain in the ass sometimes, you know that, Iggs?_

The United States glanced again towards the pills by his bedside.

Did he even need them now? He noticed his chest wasn't hurting much anymore. In fact… _all_ of the pain had stopped. There wasn't a single pinch or tug that remained. Alfred smiled jovially. The only thing that remained was a foreign pressure.

Alfred lifted a hand to massage his chest, still grinning. All he needed was a heating pad or something and he would surely be back to normal in no time—

_Squish!_

The American inclined his chin sharply (and most certainly gave himself whiplash).

His jaw slowly slipped open as he struggled in vain to remember how to speak English.

_What…?_

Alfred lifted himself out of bed, halted abruptly, and sent himself sailing right back into the pillows. He counted to ten.

Alfred prodded his chest with a hand. _Still there?!_

Fisting the sheets tightly, Alfred began wriggling and twisting, attempting to envelope himself completely in the bed sheets. He continued this odd ritual until the lack of oxygen began causing his head to throb. He popped out of the blankets and groped at his chest. _And… they are still there_! _Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God—_

He crawled from the bed, tearing the blankets off of his body and across the room, and sprinted for the bathroom. Alfred slammed against the door during the process of entering and harshly skid to a halt, his face almost smashing into the mirror as he stared harder and harder at his own reflection.

"Why do I have _boobs?!" _Alfred cried.

His outraged scream only grew louder.

"And what the hell is wrong with my voice?!"

The American wore a horrified expression as he continued to rub at his chest. "Jesus Christ, what _happened_? This has got to be a dream. Oh my God, this is definitely a dream." He grabbed his own cheeks and furiously pinched and pulled at them, sloshing his face this way and that. The American only did this for a few moments before removing his hands with a wince. "O-Okay, maybe this isn't a dream. Maybe this is… maybe I smoked something. There we go, Britain drugged me. Aha! Good one, Britain! This is funny. Now, wave your little wand or whatever and change me back."

There was no reply.

Alfred's brows twitched. He exited the bathroom. "B-Britain?" He marched to the kitchen, the main room, the bedroom. No sign of the Britain.

He clenched his fists and fought to keep his cool. Okay, so he had boobs now and his voice had undergone reverse-puberty. What's the big deal? This was totally normal. There was probably medication for this. Burgers, Alfred needed burgers.

The American paused as he was about to move towards the phone.

He realized he needed to do something about the pressure on his chest. _God, why are these so _heavy?! He tugged off his shirt to free his _unwanted cargo. _Said _illegal cargo, _which immediately lost the pressure that had been bothering Alfred once he released them from the captivity of his shirt, were alarmingly bigger than they were when he'd had the shirt _on_ and—"Oh my _God _they _jiggled!_"

Alfred hurled his shirt and made a beeline for his phone.

"_Britain, Britain, Britain-!"_

"_Hello, this is Arthur Kirkland. I am unavailable right now, but please leave your name, number, and business and I will get back to you as soon as possible. I—"_

Alfred angrily hung up, just barely managing to not throw the device across the room. He stiffly returned to the bathroom, his mind racing quicker than he could properly keep up with.

"Okay. Okay." He paced across the tile floor, his breathing coming fast. "Calm down, America. You have boobs now and your voice is different. So what? Aha. Ahaha! Yeah, funny, I know! It's okay, dude, don't worry. Just… chillax. Chillax." He glanced into the mirror. With his hair disheveled and his current lack of clothes, he almost looked like a first-degree serial killer.

"Oh, sure, you may seem a bit more—" He swallowed, quite unwilling to face the facts that were plainly reflected in front of him, "_curvier, _but that's… normal. Totally normal! Doesn't this happen to _everyone _once in a while? They wake up… as the opposite gender?"

Alfred scoffed. "Hah, what am I saying! I didn't _switch genders, _I mean come on! That's ridiculous! I still have my manhood, right? Good ol' Florida!"

Alfred de-panted himself. "Ahahaha! Ahaha… hahah… hah…"

The American was ready to cry now.

The horrified scream that followed could be heard from a block away.

* * *

**A/N: Two weeks late, my apologies. ;w; Two more chapters to come this week, please bare with me!**

**Also my apologies for the author's note, I again am trying to refrain from these as they can seriously disrupt a story's flow when you're just sitting there minding your own business reading a fiction and then hURP RANDOM AND MOOD-INSENSITIVE AUTHOR'S NOTE TIME- xD Guilty as charged. Please review and whatnot, it's greatly appreciated! C:**


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